Love is Like A Bottle of Gin by The Magnetic Fields
It makes you blind, it does you in
It makes you think you're pretty tough
It makes you prone to crime and sin
It makes you say things off the cuff
It's very small and made of glass
and grossly over-advertised
It turns a genius to an ass
and makes a fool think he is wise
It could make you regret your birth
or turn cartwheels in your best suit
It costs a lot more than it's worth
and yet there is no substitute
They keep it on a higher shelf
the older and more pure it grows
It has no color in itself
but it can make you see rainbows
You can find it on the Bowery
or you can find it at Elaine's
It makes your words more flowery
It makes the sun shine, makes it rain
You just get out what they put in
and they never put in enough
Love is like a bottle of gin
but a bottle of gin is not like love
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I like sam
Here is a poem that I just posted as a comment on Sam's blog entitled:
I like Sam
i like sam
sam make me happy
sam go slam on da slappy
i like sam
i like sam
sam a good guy
he make me laugh hard i cry
i like sam
i like sam
sam like me too
sam like a me like a you
i like sam
i like sam
he heart real big
like a stong lion or wild pig
i like sam
I like Sam
i like sam
sam make me happy
sam go slam on da slappy
i like sam
i like sam
sam a good guy
he make me laugh hard i cry
i like sam
i like sam
sam like me too
sam like a me like a you
i like sam
i like sam
he heart real big
like a stong lion or wild pig
i like sam
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
SUNSETTER, MOONRISER: The Tragic & Explosive Death of Dean Rainard, Instalment V
Instalment 5: Death from Hyper-Multisternutation
The medical term for Dean Rainard’s death is Hyper-multisternutation. Hyper-multisternutation is real, and is the cause of three deaths a year in America on average. Not many people know what HMS is, and many of the people that do know what it is don’t think it really exists. But it does, look it up. One of the leading researchers in the causes in HMS, the Ukrainian Dr. Bohslav-Boris Krevo, published a journal on HMS in 1997 where he stated, “In our research, we have concluded that there is no relative correlation between HMS and SHC [Spontaneous Human Combustion]. Though many people still believe that they are related, they in fact have no apparent relativity. […] We have hardly any clue to why HMS occurs, or how to protect oneself from it, although it should be noted that the very few people who share the tragic fate of becoming victims of HMS, also share the tendency to be fabulous multi-taskers.”
Something everyone should know about the type of craziness that Dean Rainard was a victim of: it is somewhat governed by Newton’s third law. Newton’s third law particularly pertains to the physical world, but the physical world works much like the mental world. Newton’s third law can be summed up in to one sentence, “To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” So, when Newton’s third law is applied to the case of Dean Rainard’s craziness, anyone can see that with the clearest thoughts of clarity that came to his head, the most insane thoughts of insanity came as well.
While Dean Rainard was in the shower his clearest thoughts of clarity weaned, and his thoughts of insanity returned. He was being attacked by the thoughts more than he ever was in his entire life. He was still weeping, and was remembering everything about his life that made him go crazy: Graham Stokes, his nickname, how he was a terrible teacher, how he left the love of his life in cowardice, how he was nothing like Dr. Winslow Stephens. He remembered how he used to take care of these thoughts, by multi-tasking. Dean Rainard then went into a fit of multi-tasking that killed him. He peed, sneezed, farted, burped, puked, coughed, defecated, yawned, and cried, all while saying quietly, “Oh my.” And let’s not forget that he had laundry in the washer as well.
Officials found Dean Rainard fourteen hours later. There was a missing account put on file for him since he wasn’t at school the next day and the police sent a squad car to his place on Holiday Road to see if he was there. The police officer that found Dean Rainard was Conrad Vincent. Conrad Vincent had only been on the Olympia Police Force for three weeks. When Conrad Vincent found Dean Rainard in the shower, most of Dean’s body had already gone down the drain. Vincent didn’t know just what he had witnessed. There was blood, and guts and faecal matter covering the walls of the small bathroom. Vincent immediately vomited and called for backup. It was concluded after investigation that Rainard had been a victim of HMS and consequently exploded. The remains of his body that didn’t go down the drain were scraped off of the walls and ceiling and floor and cremated just as Dean Rainard would have wanted.
Dean’s painting entitled ‘I WAS WRONG’ caught the eye of Dr. Winslow Stephens, who had since retried and become a renowned art collector and critic. Stephens bought the painting from the Olympia government for next to nothing. This was all in 2003. Since then, the painting's value has sky rocketed up to fifteen million dollars and is now on display in the Guggenheim Museum, in Manhattan. There has been much literature written about theories of what Dean Rainard could have been so wrong about. Maybe it was leaving his first and only love, Denise Wright. Maybe it was his view that the only art with value is art that has sociological aspects to it. Maybe it was the fact that he was nothing like Dr. Winslow Stephens. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he was made wrong.
The medical term for Dean Rainard’s death is Hyper-multisternutation. Hyper-multisternutation is real, and is the cause of three deaths a year in America on average. Not many people know what HMS is, and many of the people that do know what it is don’t think it really exists. But it does, look it up. One of the leading researchers in the causes in HMS, the Ukrainian Dr. Bohslav-Boris Krevo, published a journal on HMS in 1997 where he stated, “In our research, we have concluded that there is no relative correlation between HMS and SHC [Spontaneous Human Combustion]. Though many people still believe that they are related, they in fact have no apparent relativity. […] We have hardly any clue to why HMS occurs, or how to protect oneself from it, although it should be noted that the very few people who share the tragic fate of becoming victims of HMS, also share the tendency to be fabulous multi-taskers.”
Something everyone should know about the type of craziness that Dean Rainard was a victim of: it is somewhat governed by Newton’s third law. Newton’s third law particularly pertains to the physical world, but the physical world works much like the mental world. Newton’s third law can be summed up in to one sentence, “To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” So, when Newton’s third law is applied to the case of Dean Rainard’s craziness, anyone can see that with the clearest thoughts of clarity that came to his head, the most insane thoughts of insanity came as well.
While Dean Rainard was in the shower his clearest thoughts of clarity weaned, and his thoughts of insanity returned. He was being attacked by the thoughts more than he ever was in his entire life. He was still weeping, and was remembering everything about his life that made him go crazy: Graham Stokes, his nickname, how he was a terrible teacher, how he left the love of his life in cowardice, how he was nothing like Dr. Winslow Stephens. He remembered how he used to take care of these thoughts, by multi-tasking. Dean Rainard then went into a fit of multi-tasking that killed him. He peed, sneezed, farted, burped, puked, coughed, defecated, yawned, and cried, all while saying quietly, “Oh my.” And let’s not forget that he had laundry in the washer as well.
Officials found Dean Rainard fourteen hours later. There was a missing account put on file for him since he wasn’t at school the next day and the police sent a squad car to his place on Holiday Road to see if he was there. The police officer that found Dean Rainard was Conrad Vincent. Conrad Vincent had only been on the Olympia Police Force for three weeks. When Conrad Vincent found Dean Rainard in the shower, most of Dean’s body had already gone down the drain. Vincent didn’t know just what he had witnessed. There was blood, and guts and faecal matter covering the walls of the small bathroom. Vincent immediately vomited and called for backup. It was concluded after investigation that Rainard had been a victim of HMS and consequently exploded. The remains of his body that didn’t go down the drain were scraped off of the walls and ceiling and floor and cremated just as Dean Rainard would have wanted.
Dean’s painting entitled ‘I WAS WRONG’ caught the eye of Dr. Winslow Stephens, who had since retried and become a renowned art collector and critic. Stephens bought the painting from the Olympia government for next to nothing. This was all in 2003. Since then, the painting's value has sky rocketed up to fifteen million dollars and is now on display in the Guggenheim Museum, in Manhattan. There has been much literature written about theories of what Dean Rainard could have been so wrong about. Maybe it was leaving his first and only love, Denise Wright. Maybe it was his view that the only art with value is art that has sociological aspects to it. Maybe it was the fact that he was nothing like Dr. Winslow Stephens. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he was made wrong.
SUNSETTER, MOONRISER: The Tragic & Explosive Death of Dean Rainard, Instalment IV
Instalment 4: “I WAS WRONG”
Dean Rainard, like most Art Historians, was not an artist. He had always thought that he had no artistic ability and therefore had never tried art out. Until the day he died, which was this day, he had never even painted one single painting. When his grandfather, the late Lazlo Franks, died, he died with hardly any possessions. All Dean inherited was a canvas on an easel, a brush, and a tube of Cerulean Blue. His inheritance had sat untouched in his basement for twenty-four years.
Dean Rainard walked out of Eel River Athapaskan High School with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He had no clue that he was a crazy person. Most crazy people don’t know that they are crazy people. He walked the small streets of Olympia all the way to Holiday Road, on which he lived. He walked up to his drive way. The top third of his white button-up dress shirt was now soaked with mucus. He cried his way into his small ordinary house, and down in to his small ordinary basement. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. His basement had no windows. He sat there, on the floor of his basement for three hours crying. ‘There is nothing good for me, there has never been anything good for me, there never will be anything good for me,’ he thought. Dean Rainard sat there and sobbed for three hours, a pitiful mess. A lump of craziness in a white button-up dress shirt completely soaked in mucus. After three hours, he got himself up still crying. He looked over and saw his inheritance from Lazlo Franks in the corner of the room. He walked over to it. The canvas was huge, six feet wide and four feet tall. Getting it into the basement twenty-four years earlier had been a pain. Dean unscrewed the cap of the Cerulean Blue. It smelled nice, like chemicals. It was a soothing smell, like how gasoline is a soothing smell. It is interesting how even in the deepest moments of insanity, the clearist thoughts of clarity can still come to a crazy persons head. The chemical smell of the paint brought the clearist thoughts of clarity to Dean Rainard’s head. He squirted a glob of Cerulean Blue into the palm of his hand and lifted it to his nose. It brought back a memory that he couldn’t really put his finger on. He didn’t know what it reminded him of. Childhood? His grandfather? ‘Did I even ever meet my grandfather?’ he thought. What ever the memory was he couldn’t tell. And whatever it was, was making him cry even harder. He took the brush and dipped it in the glob on his hand. He wrote three words on the canvas over and over. “I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I…” He wrote it in big, bold, capital letters. “I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG…” Dean Rainard covered the canvas with these words. He wrote the phrase ‘I WAS WRONG’ 322 times. By the time he was done with the painting his entire left arm and most of his shirt was covered in paint and mucus. He walked up stairs, tracking paint through most of the house, still sobbing. He walked to the laundry room, took off his clothes, and put them in the washer. He then walked into his bathroom and hopped in the shower.
Dean Rainard, like most Art Historians, was not an artist. He had always thought that he had no artistic ability and therefore had never tried art out. Until the day he died, which was this day, he had never even painted one single painting. When his grandfather, the late Lazlo Franks, died, he died with hardly any possessions. All Dean inherited was a canvas on an easel, a brush, and a tube of Cerulean Blue. His inheritance had sat untouched in his basement for twenty-four years.
Dean Rainard walked out of Eel River Athapaskan High School with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He had no clue that he was a crazy person. Most crazy people don’t know that they are crazy people. He walked the small streets of Olympia all the way to Holiday Road, on which he lived. He walked up to his drive way. The top third of his white button-up dress shirt was now soaked with mucus. He cried his way into his small ordinary house, and down in to his small ordinary basement. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. His basement had no windows. He sat there, on the floor of his basement for three hours crying. ‘There is nothing good for me, there has never been anything good for me, there never will be anything good for me,’ he thought. Dean Rainard sat there and sobbed for three hours, a pitiful mess. A lump of craziness in a white button-up dress shirt completely soaked in mucus. After three hours, he got himself up still crying. He looked over and saw his inheritance from Lazlo Franks in the corner of the room. He walked over to it. The canvas was huge, six feet wide and four feet tall. Getting it into the basement twenty-four years earlier had been a pain. Dean unscrewed the cap of the Cerulean Blue. It smelled nice, like chemicals. It was a soothing smell, like how gasoline is a soothing smell. It is interesting how even in the deepest moments of insanity, the clearist thoughts of clarity can still come to a crazy persons head. The chemical smell of the paint brought the clearist thoughts of clarity to Dean Rainard’s head. He squirted a glob of Cerulean Blue into the palm of his hand and lifted it to his nose. It brought back a memory that he couldn’t really put his finger on. He didn’t know what it reminded him of. Childhood? His grandfather? ‘Did I even ever meet my grandfather?’ he thought. What ever the memory was he couldn’t tell. And whatever it was, was making him cry even harder. He took the brush and dipped it in the glob on his hand. He wrote three words on the canvas over and over. “I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I…” He wrote it in big, bold, capital letters. “I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG I WAS WRONG…” Dean Rainard covered the canvas with these words. He wrote the phrase ‘I WAS WRONG’ 322 times. By the time he was done with the painting his entire left arm and most of his shirt was covered in paint and mucus. He walked up stairs, tracking paint through most of the house, still sobbing. He walked to the laundry room, took off his clothes, and put them in the washer. He then walked into his bathroom and hopped in the shower.
SUNSETTER, MOONRISER: The Tragic & Explosive Death of Dean Rainard, Instalment III
Instalment 3: History
Eel River Athapaskan Highschool is located in Olympia, California, a small town outside of Fortuna, about three miles from the Eel River which flows northwest into the Pacific Ocean. Eel River Athapaskan High School is the only high school in Olympia. It is connected to the only middle school in Olympia, Eel River Athapaskan Middle School, which is connected to the only Elementary School in Olympia, Eel River Athapaskan Grammar School. Dean Rainard had lived in Olympia most of his life. Only briefly had he lived in Fortuna while attending college at Fortuna Community College where he double majored in Art History and Early Hungarian Literature. He had always been very interested in, and connected with both of these subjects. His grandfather was Lazlo Farkas, an immigrant from Hungary and a leader in the art movement known as Futurism. Lazlo Farkas, being Jewish, came over to America during the rise of the Nazi party in Europe. He, like many others of his time, could smell the trouble brewing in Europe and decided it would be far better to be a Jew in Anti-Semitic America than in a Jew in the hands of the Nazis. Farkas was twenty-three when he came to America. On arrival in America, he changed his name to Lazlo Franks. In his first week of being in America, he met the love of his life, Julia Johnson, a full blooded American who instantly fell in love with Lazlo Franks’ exotic accent. Lazlo and Julia married and begot three children, all girls, Juliette, Carol, and Elizabeth (Little Betty). Little Betty Franks grew up and ran away with Larry Rainard to California. It was in Olympia, California where they got married and had one single child, Dean Rainard. Dean Rainard had never been to Hungary, the land of his ancestory. He had never been to Europe. He had never been out of California. He had never experienced anyone calling a bathroom a toilet. The only reason that he knew that Europeans called bathrooms toilets was because of a Humanities class he took when he was in tenth grade at Eel River Athapaskan High School. His teacher was Dr. Winslow Stephens. Dr. Winslow Stephens was subject of the Queen of Britain.
Every semester, during Dr. Winslow Stephens’ famed lecture on the history of the toilet, he would say, “Did you know that in Europe they don’t even call it a bathroom? The call it a toilet! They don’t try to sugarcoat it. The call it how it is! A PLACE FOR SHITTING!” At this all the students of Dr. Winslow Stephens’ tenth grade Humanities class would erupt with laughter. They loved Dr. Stephens’ because he would cuss. Dean Rainard loved him. He wanted to be him when he grew up. Dean Rainard cussed in his class and the class cried. Dean Rainard had grown up and was nothing like the beloved Dr. Winslow Stephens. He was his antithesis. Where Dr. Stephens had a loving wife and two loving children, Dean Rainard had threw away his only chance at love when he left his first and only love, Denise Wright, whom he was engaged to marry. Where Dr. Stephens was well educated in many areas, and at Oxford I might add, Dean Rainard only knew a whole lot about Art History and Hungarian literature. Where Dr. Stephens had come to love art even more by teaching it to his students, Dean Rainard had come to hate it. But all of this was partly due to the fact that he was a crazy person.
Eel River Athapaskan Highschool is located in Olympia, California, a small town outside of Fortuna, about three miles from the Eel River which flows northwest into the Pacific Ocean. Eel River Athapaskan High School is the only high school in Olympia. It is connected to the only middle school in Olympia, Eel River Athapaskan Middle School, which is connected to the only Elementary School in Olympia, Eel River Athapaskan Grammar School. Dean Rainard had lived in Olympia most of his life. Only briefly had he lived in Fortuna while attending college at Fortuna Community College where he double majored in Art History and Early Hungarian Literature. He had always been very interested in, and connected with both of these subjects. His grandfather was Lazlo Farkas, an immigrant from Hungary and a leader in the art movement known as Futurism. Lazlo Farkas, being Jewish, came over to America during the rise of the Nazi party in Europe. He, like many others of his time, could smell the trouble brewing in Europe and decided it would be far better to be a Jew in Anti-Semitic America than in a Jew in the hands of the Nazis. Farkas was twenty-three when he came to America. On arrival in America, he changed his name to Lazlo Franks. In his first week of being in America, he met the love of his life, Julia Johnson, a full blooded American who instantly fell in love with Lazlo Franks’ exotic accent. Lazlo and Julia married and begot three children, all girls, Juliette, Carol, and Elizabeth (Little Betty). Little Betty Franks grew up and ran away with Larry Rainard to California. It was in Olympia, California where they got married and had one single child, Dean Rainard. Dean Rainard had never been to Hungary, the land of his ancestory. He had never been to Europe. He had never been out of California. He had never experienced anyone calling a bathroom a toilet. The only reason that he knew that Europeans called bathrooms toilets was because of a Humanities class he took when he was in tenth grade at Eel River Athapaskan High School. His teacher was Dr. Winslow Stephens. Dr. Winslow Stephens was subject of the Queen of Britain.
Every semester, during Dr. Winslow Stephens’ famed lecture on the history of the toilet, he would say, “Did you know that in Europe they don’t even call it a bathroom? The call it a toilet! They don’t try to sugarcoat it. The call it how it is! A PLACE FOR SHITTING!” At this all the students of Dr. Winslow Stephens’ tenth grade Humanities class would erupt with laughter. They loved Dr. Stephens’ because he would cuss. Dean Rainard loved him. He wanted to be him when he grew up. Dean Rainard cussed in his class and the class cried. Dean Rainard had grown up and was nothing like the beloved Dr. Winslow Stephens. He was his antithesis. Where Dr. Stephens had a loving wife and two loving children, Dean Rainard had threw away his only chance at love when he left his first and only love, Denise Wright, whom he was engaged to marry. Where Dr. Stephens was well educated in many areas, and at Oxford I might add, Dean Rainard only knew a whole lot about Art History and Hungarian literature. Where Dr. Stephens had come to love art even more by teaching it to his students, Dean Rainard had come to hate it. But all of this was partly due to the fact that he was a crazy person.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
SUNSETTER, MOONRISER: The Tragic & Explosive Death of Dean Rainard, Instalment II
Instalment Two: Dean, Dean, the Jumping Bean
Here is something everyone should know about people afflicted in the way Dean Rainard was afflicted: the affliction gradually accumulates over time. When he was a child, Dean Rainard attended Eel River Athapaskan Grammar School. While he was there he became the victim of countless attacks of bullies. Until third grade, a bully by the name of Graham Stokes would give him a punch in the stomach and take Dean’s lunch money everyday. One day, Graham Stokes beat Dean Rainard so badly that Rainard was hospitalised for three days on account of having a broken nose, two broken ribs, and internal bleeding. It is really sick what some kids will do for two dollars and fifty cents. Graham Stokes got expelled for this and when he was fifteen, got put in the crazy bin for killing all two hundred and fourteen of farmer Eli Gristle’s hens by decapitation.
It was Graham Stokes who, in the first grade, gave Dean Rainard the nickname that he would go by for the rest of his school career. The nickname was this:
Dean Dean the jumping bean
Jumping on a trampoline
Jump-so-high
Jump-so-low
He jumped on a buffalo!
This name stuck with him until he graduated from Eel River Athapaskan High School when he was eighteen. The name started out as a way for Graham Stokes and all his first grade buddies to insult Dean but eventually was adopted by the entire faculty of the school and even Dean’s own parents. His mom would call him in for dinner,
“Dean-Dean-the-jumping-bean-jumping-on-a-trampoline-jump-so-high-jump-so-low-he-jumped-on-a-buffalo! Come in for dinner sweetheart!” And Dean would come.
Dean never told anyone how much he hated being called this. He simply learned to deal with it in two ways. One way he dealt with it was by becoming a fabulous multi-tasker. Doing as many things as he could simultaneously helped Dean keep his mind off how much he hated being called by his nickname. He learned to listen to music, while studying as many teenagers do. But his multi-tasking went further than this. He could write paragraphs upon paragraphs with his right hand, while drawing a self portrait with his left. He could jog while reading and eating ice cream. He obviously became quite famous for his multi-tasking. How could someone who was riding a bike and mixing ingredients for a cake go unnoticed? He was unknowing of it, but, although multi-tasking was a main defence mechanism for Dean Rainard, it would eventually bring about his death. The other way he dealt with the hatred of the nickname was by silently and unknowingly becoming a crazy person.
Here is something everyone should know about people afflicted in the way Dean Rainard was afflicted: the affliction gradually accumulates over time. When he was a child, Dean Rainard attended Eel River Athapaskan Grammar School. While he was there he became the victim of countless attacks of bullies. Until third grade, a bully by the name of Graham Stokes would give him a punch in the stomach and take Dean’s lunch money everyday. One day, Graham Stokes beat Dean Rainard so badly that Rainard was hospitalised for three days on account of having a broken nose, two broken ribs, and internal bleeding. It is really sick what some kids will do for two dollars and fifty cents. Graham Stokes got expelled for this and when he was fifteen, got put in the crazy bin for killing all two hundred and fourteen of farmer Eli Gristle’s hens by decapitation.
It was Graham Stokes who, in the first grade, gave Dean Rainard the nickname that he would go by for the rest of his school career. The nickname was this:
Dean Dean the jumping bean
Jumping on a trampoline
Jump-so-high
Jump-so-low
He jumped on a buffalo!
This name stuck with him until he graduated from Eel River Athapaskan High School when he was eighteen. The name started out as a way for Graham Stokes and all his first grade buddies to insult Dean but eventually was adopted by the entire faculty of the school and even Dean’s own parents. His mom would call him in for dinner,
“Dean-Dean-the-jumping-bean-jumping-on-a-trampoline-jump-so-high-jump-so-low-he-jumped-on-a-buffalo! Come in for dinner sweetheart!” And Dean would come.
Dean never told anyone how much he hated being called this. He simply learned to deal with it in two ways. One way he dealt with it was by becoming a fabulous multi-tasker. Doing as many things as he could simultaneously helped Dean keep his mind off how much he hated being called by his nickname. He learned to listen to music, while studying as many teenagers do. But his multi-tasking went further than this. He could write paragraphs upon paragraphs with his right hand, while drawing a self portrait with his left. He could jog while reading and eating ice cream. He obviously became quite famous for his multi-tasking. How could someone who was riding a bike and mixing ingredients for a cake go unnoticed? He was unknowing of it, but, although multi-tasking was a main defence mechanism for Dean Rainard, it would eventually bring about his death. The other way he dealt with the hatred of the nickname was by silently and unknowingly becoming a crazy person.
SUNSETTER, MOONRISER: The Tragic & Explosive Death of Dean Rainard, Instalment I
SUNSETTER, MOONRISER: The Tragic & Explosive Death of Dean Rainard
Installment One: Starry Night
"Why do people like Van Gogh so much?" Dean Rainard asked his class, his brow furrowed cynically, his tone abrasive.
"What the hell makes Van Gogh so fucking important? Daisy! You like Van Gogh, right? What is so great about Van Gogh?"
Dean Rainard was an art historian. More specifically, a tenth grade art history teacher. Daisy Coalfield was one of his pupils.
"Yes, Mr. Rainard, I like Van Gogh," her voice quivered.
"And what is it that you like about him?"
"I dont know..." she said, "I guess I just like the way it looks."
"YOU JUST LIKE THE WAY IT LOOKS!? YOU JUST LIKE THE WAY IT LOOKS!?" Dean was yelling now at poor Daisy Coalfield. "Have you ever even heard of any other artist besides Van Gogh? Name one, just one..."
Daisy was stunned to the point of not being able to speak. The whole class was stunned to the point of not being able to speak. Even Mrs. Couch, the 11th grade, Intermediate English teacher in the classroom next door, who was on her planning period, was stunned to the point of not being able to speak. The walls of Eel River Athapaskan High School were not thick. Consequently, Mrs. Couch caught every word of Mr. Rainard's outburst. She had been eating a ham and cheese sandwich and upon hearing Dean Rainard's explosion, was so astonished that she inhaled part of her ham and cheese sandwich and died. She was found 45 minutes later by her boyfriend, the school janitor, Elvis Mann. But her death is not the subject of this story. Dean Rainard's death is the subject of this story.
Mr. Rainard looked at the slide of Starry Night which was being projected on the wall.
"Sunsetter, moonriser," he mumbled. He did not know why he mumbled this. Maybe it was because the image of the crescent moon in the painting was glowing like a sun, with a halo around it. Maybe it was simply a random firing of his brain mixed with the confusion and anger that was stirring inside it. He followed this with,
"VAN GOGH WAS A CRAZY PERSON."
You are a crazy person, thought Daisy Coalfield.
This was true. Dean Rainard was a crazy person. He had been a crazy person his entire life, but his craziness was the type of crazyness that one is able to hold inside himself for a period of time before being let go in an explosive and violent manner. Dean Rainard had held his craziness in his whole life until today. Today was the day he was letting it out.
"PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE WHY I HAVE COME TO HATE ART! IGNORANT, STUPID, FUCKING TENTH GRADERS THAT THINK YOU KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING! THE ONLY REASON YOU LIKE ART IS BECAUSE OF HOW IT LOOKS! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT! YOU DONT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES OF IT, ALL YOU WANNA DO IS LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT AND ADMIRE HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS AND WONDERFUL AND COLORFUL AND YOU KNOW WHAT?"
Then he said something that truly baffled his students. It would have truly baffled anyone who heard it.
"DID YOU KNOW IN EUROPE THEY DONT EVEN CALL IT A BATHROOM! THEY CALL IT A TOILET! THEY DONT TRY TO SUGARCOAT IT. THEY CALL IT HOW IT IS! A PLACE FOR SHITTING! YOU IGNORANT TENTH GRADE AMERICANS... YOU ARE ALL STUPID FUCKING AMERICANS!"
Dean Rainard then walked to the door, leaving behind his breifcase, and walked out of the classroom. Since Mrs. Couch had passed away, there was no one else in the vicinity of Dean Rainard's Tenth Grade art history class to hear and confront Mr. Rainard about the way he was speaking to his pupils. There was no one there to see him storm out of the class. The only witnesses were the students in his tenth grade art history class, who were now all crying or on the verge of tears.
Installment One: Starry Night
"Why do people like Van Gogh so much?" Dean Rainard asked his class, his brow furrowed cynically, his tone abrasive.
"What the hell makes Van Gogh so fucking important? Daisy! You like Van Gogh, right? What is so great about Van Gogh?"
Dean Rainard was an art historian. More specifically, a tenth grade art history teacher. Daisy Coalfield was one of his pupils.
"Yes, Mr. Rainard, I like Van Gogh," her voice quivered.
"And what is it that you like about him?"
"I dont know..." she said, "I guess I just like the way it looks."
"YOU JUST LIKE THE WAY IT LOOKS!? YOU JUST LIKE THE WAY IT LOOKS!?" Dean was yelling now at poor Daisy Coalfield. "Have you ever even heard of any other artist besides Van Gogh? Name one, just one..."
Daisy was stunned to the point of not being able to speak. The whole class was stunned to the point of not being able to speak. Even Mrs. Couch, the 11th grade, Intermediate English teacher in the classroom next door, who was on her planning period, was stunned to the point of not being able to speak. The walls of Eel River Athapaskan High School were not thick. Consequently, Mrs. Couch caught every word of Mr. Rainard's outburst. She had been eating a ham and cheese sandwich and upon hearing Dean Rainard's explosion, was so astonished that she inhaled part of her ham and cheese sandwich and died. She was found 45 minutes later by her boyfriend, the school janitor, Elvis Mann. But her death is not the subject of this story. Dean Rainard's death is the subject of this story.
Mr. Rainard looked at the slide of Starry Night which was being projected on the wall.
"Sunsetter, moonriser," he mumbled. He did not know why he mumbled this. Maybe it was because the image of the crescent moon in the painting was glowing like a sun, with a halo around it. Maybe it was simply a random firing of his brain mixed with the confusion and anger that was stirring inside it. He followed this with,
"VAN GOGH WAS A CRAZY PERSON."
You are a crazy person, thought Daisy Coalfield.
This was true. Dean Rainard was a crazy person. He had been a crazy person his entire life, but his craziness was the type of crazyness that one is able to hold inside himself for a period of time before being let go in an explosive and violent manner. Dean Rainard had held his craziness in his whole life until today. Today was the day he was letting it out.
"PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE WHY I HAVE COME TO HATE ART! IGNORANT, STUPID, FUCKING TENTH GRADERS THAT THINK YOU KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING! THE ONLY REASON YOU LIKE ART IS BECAUSE OF HOW IT LOOKS! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT! YOU DONT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES OF IT, ALL YOU WANNA DO IS LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT AND ADMIRE HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS AND WONDERFUL AND COLORFUL AND YOU KNOW WHAT?"
Then he said something that truly baffled his students. It would have truly baffled anyone who heard it.
"DID YOU KNOW IN EUROPE THEY DONT EVEN CALL IT A BATHROOM! THEY CALL IT A TOILET! THEY DONT TRY TO SUGARCOAT IT. THEY CALL IT HOW IT IS! A PLACE FOR SHITTING! YOU IGNORANT TENTH GRADE AMERICANS... YOU ARE ALL STUPID FUCKING AMERICANS!"
Dean Rainard then walked to the door, leaving behind his breifcase, and walked out of the classroom. Since Mrs. Couch had passed away, there was no one else in the vicinity of Dean Rainard's Tenth Grade art history class to hear and confront Mr. Rainard about the way he was speaking to his pupils. There was no one there to see him storm out of the class. The only witnesses were the students in his tenth grade art history class, who were now all crying or on the verge of tears.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Newest Poem
I wrote a poem in my head the other day, while I was in Paris. It was a couplet, as most of my poems are. I think it really embodies what I think about Paris. That is why it is called:
Paris
I fed abuncha birds abuncha bread.
Abuncha birds made abuncha shit.
Paris
I fed abuncha birds abuncha bread.
Abuncha birds made abuncha shit.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
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